


Breathe

by theywerefireworks (orphan_account)



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Dancing, Fluff, Incest, M/M, Twincest, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 11:13:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6003778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/theywerefireworks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanford Pines was not a man easily caught off-guard. When he was, he reminded himself to breathe. Unluckily for him, his brother always has a way to steal that breath away.</p><p>Just some cute Valentine's Day fluff for the season! Enjoy~</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathe

  
Stanford Pines was not a man easily caught off-guard.

Sure, it had been months - hell, almost half a year now - since he had returned home and stopped Bill with the help of his family, so nobody would have faulted him if his senses failed him just a little bit. He was almost 60 after all, and no longer in a host of dimensions where he had to fight for his next meal. He was allowed to relax, right? Yet any time he did, he was thrown off, thrown someplace else, and instantly his entire body would tighten, all senses on alert, as if prodded with a cattle iron.

That’s how he found himself this specific night, as he pulled himself up from the basement, hidden still behind the vending machine in the Shack’s Gift Shop. Ford had protested lightly, but Stan thought it was a hilarious joke, a great prop, and brought up the excellent point that the machine kept wandering eyes away from his work. Which was fine by him; he didn’t need nosy travelers poking around things that they didn’t need to be touching. So, the snacks had stayed put, and Ford appreciated the privacy it brought for him, especially in the height of tourism season.

The vending machine had pulled aside for him and he absently crossed the threshold to the room, hardly looking up from the paper he was reading. As he left the basement though, he realized just how dark the house was; this wasn’t weird in and of itself, since it was winter, the shack was closed to tourists, and it was well past dinner time. It was later than he realized, and only vaguely remembered Stan asking him to come upstairs for food. Looking up from his reading material, he raised an eyebrow, moving carefully towards the living room.

As he swung the wooden door open, that was when the feeling hit him. 

It was like a cold drop of water into his stomach and his breathing hitched. Ford felt his body shift and grabbed the door for support, his eyes widening behind his glasses to help cope with the gloom. As his gaze quickly darted around, he tried - in vain -  to find the source of why the hair was raised along the back of his neck. A darkened room. Nobody there. Late night. Television on, playing to an empty chair. It wasn’t anything _unfamiliar,_ but the sight of it sent all of his warning bells ringing, but why… he wasn’t sure.

He stood still, going through his routine, listening for signs to help him calm down. In the early days, after he had just gotten back, everything made him jump, everything was causing him to snap and check around the corner. Now, though, he knew better than to twitch straight for his sidearm. Instead, he took a breath, two, three. He listened carefully; it’s possible his brother was simply using the restroom down the hallway, and would be back shortly. However, no sounds came from the bathroom around the corner and no water rushed through the walls from flushing. Stan didn’t normally keep the television on - unless he had fallen asleep in front of it - so that certainly wasn’t the issue.

 _The kitchen,_ then, Ford said to himself, easily, carefully. _There is no need to panic. Just scout the interior, then the exterior. Routine. Nothing is wrong. Breathe, one, two, three._

Stan wasn’t in the kitchen. Instead, the house was just as dark inside as it was in the gift shop. No lights left on in the hallway, nothing in the bathroom. On going up to the attic, it was the same story. No Stan, no lights, no signs of life. Even the room he shared with Stan was oddly dark; the furnace in the corner was generally kept lit, especially this deep into winter, but the coals weren’t tended to. Ford went over and carefully opened the grate, prodding a few coals and throwing in some wood. But even this felt wrong. With every passing second, his nerves became more frayed. Yet he continued focusing on his airflow. Just breathe in, breathe out, two three.

As he stood up and looked around the room, he was starting to realize what was causing him to be so on edge; everything was… _clean._ Tidy. Nothing out of place, no socks on the floor. The kitchen had been oddly clean as well - Stan’s taxidermy tools were put away, the remnants of any dinner gone and cleaned up. The living room had been spotless, not a magazine or book out of order. Even the gift shop had been dusted and straightened.

Stan was never clean and Ford, with his scattered brain and even more scattered workplace, was hardly a neat freak. Some things he kept clean and organized sure, but it was hardly something either of the boys did regularly - except when the twins came to visit, or tourists were moving through. He stood up, looking around their room, a six-fingered hand opening and closing again in agitation. Did Stan really clean up? If he did, why was the house dark? His jaw tightened, trying to work through the tension there. He tried to think of all the reasons his twin would take the time to straighten the whole of the Shack, but nothing came to mind. Was there something he was missing? Some puzzle piece?

At least now he was about 60% sure that nobody had breached the perimeter. Which was something he should have figured from the get-go; after Weirdmageddon, even if things were ‘normal’, there was no way he was going to let any intruders hit the grounds without him being properly notified. Especially because he didn’t need the government stuffing their noses in his business. Still, some _thing_ could have caused an unknown breach, and for that, Ford swallowed down the urge to call out for his brother in the darkness. No need to give away his position just yet.

Instead, he took a breath. Two. Three.

Silently, he made his way back down the stairs and towards the living room. He had hoped that Stan would be back in his chair by then, somehow missing every creaky floorboard on the way there, but as he looked to the chair, he saw it was still empty. Again, his jaw tightened, but he tried not to think about it. Instead, he turned the other way down the hallway to the one room he hadn’t yet checked: his old study.

It was here that he saw a small sliver of light underneath the door. It was faint, but it made his heart jump. He hesitated only for a moment, but curiosity was always stronger than his logic or his self-preservation - and hell if he didn’t want to know what his brother was up to already. Turning the knob, he steeled his face, readying a reprimand on his tongue.

“Stan, okay, what-”

The words caught in his throat as he looked around the room. It was his old study, for certain, but… it had been transformed by his brother for the night. The furniture had been pushed up into the corners, which were straightened and dusted and even his old trophies shone softly as if it was the first day he received them. The room itself was lit by candles spread around safely on tables and holders, and the whole of the place was draped in warm colors; red blankets, salmon drapes over the windows and obscuring furniture, soft white blankets on the couch, covering up the faded mustard yellow. But the most obvious change was the table in the middle; a small one, set for two, with a candle as the decoration. There was a nice steak dinner waiting, as well as two glasses of wine. Ford swallowed, his face heating as he took in the sight, speechless. 

The sound of a flush and a sink running brought him back down to reality, reminding him to breathe _(two, three)_. However, that breath was stolen from him again when he saw Stan waltz out of the bathroom, whistling under his breath and absorbed in straightening his shirt cuff. It gave Ford more than a moment to check out his newly cleaned suit, the perfectly pressed pants, the new cufflinks, the lack of fez, the attempt at fixing his glasses and hair. As soon as his brother saw him though, they both froze; Stan looking up from his wrist, and Ford caught completely off-guard, looking all the world like a very awkward penguin. Stan immediately straightened, his back snapping into place at the sight of his brother’s arrival.

“Ford,” he started. “Oh! I, um, was going to fetch you but-” Stan started to muster out some kind of response or explanation, and Ford saw the color rising in his cheeks. His own face heated more at the sight of it, and yet, he still remained speechless. After a moment, Stan came over and took one of Ford’s hands in his, a grin on his face.

“Sixer, I get it, you’re not used to this. But before I do anything I wanna make sure you’re alive and well up there, so sayin’ something would be preferable.”

“Oh,” That small escape of air reminded him he needed to, again, breathe. So he took breath, and another. “Stan. I, um, wh-what is all this, exactly?”

“So, I know it’s been a while for you to get this kind of thing -”

“I don’t think I’ve ever received whatever this ‘thing’ is, Stanley.”

“- _and_ it’s been awhile since you’ve been topside,” Stan continued over his brother’s interruption, not unkindly. The grin still played a bit on the corners of his mouth, and Ford couldn’t help but find it endearing. Shyness was a side of Stan he didn’t see very often, but it was _sweet_ , for lack of a better term. As he chatted, he played with Ford’s hand, a calming sensation for both of them. “And I don’t think you knew what day it was, or really pay attention to the calendar much these days.”

“Well, I know what day it is, if that’s what you’re referring to. And as far as I can remember, nothing exciting is happening at all, at least not of note-” A small chuckle from Stan cut him off. He turned Ford’s hand over in his and linked their fingers together.

“It’s February 14th, Sixer.”

“Yes, and again, is that supposed to be significant? Or… worth the trouble you’ve…”

“Heh, of course you wouldn’t realize. It’s _Valentine’s Day_ , Stanford.”

Again, Ford’s breath caught in his throat and he swallowed it before he choked on it. As if his face wasn’t warm enough, it warmed even more, and he tugged at the collar of his sweater with his free hand.

“Oh! Stanley, I, um, don’t really observe - we both know I don’t need - this is a hell of a lot of trouble for -” Stan gave his hand a squeeze and smiled at him, bringing his stammering to a stop. For all Stan’s earlier shyness, his confidence was quickly overtaking it.

“It’s been almost 30 years since I’ve been able to surprise ya, and the last time I did, well, we both know how that went.” Ford dropped his head, more interested in the fingers entwined in front of him then his twin’s face.

“I’m not worth this, Stan, come on.” Stan gave a soft tug of his hand, bringing them closer.

“Come on, Sixer, I don’t gotta remind you again. Thirty-”

“- _years,_ ” Ford finished, incredulous and unconvinced. “Yes, Stanley, I know, and I am forever grateful, but this… seems a bit…”

Ford met Stan’s eye and something in them made him trail off. He wasn’t sure what it was, but the look his brother currently held made his constant stream of excuses come to a stop. He searched them for a moment, feeling his body taking in oxygen. He steadied himself with another breath, and prepared a response in the third. His features softened and opened, and he shyly looked away again.

“Alright Stan. I get it; You just wanna do this for me, and I won’t run away from that.” Ford watched his eyes carefully, seeing the light chase away whatever was there moments before. “So, what exactly did you concoct for us tonight?”

At that, Stan positively beamed, his large infectious grin plastering his face. “Hah, you should be grateful, you stubborn _ass_ , because I spent all day slaving in secret on this.” He led his brother over to the small table, holding out the chair for him to sit. Ford did so, taking in the food in front of him. It was a traditional 8 ounce, with a side of delicious-looking mashed potatoes and fresh greens. A ladle of gravy sat between them. The smell was wonderful, and up close, intoxicating. It wasn’t until it was in front of him that Ford realized just how hungry he was, and how much he had denied his body over the course of the day.

“It looks, wonderful, Stan.” The response was so heartfelt, it surprised both of them. Stan recovered faster though, waving off the compliment as he sat down.

“Ah, it’s nothing, and if it wasn’t the dead of winter, I would be able to get down to the market for something fresher. As it is, we’re still holed up here. Now, please! Eat! I had to wait long enough for you to get up here, I don’t want that steak getting too cold on ya.”

As it turned out, the steak was a little cool by the time Stan and Ford both sat down to eat, but Ford didn’t complain. Instead, they took this time to talk about their days, about the wild winter weather that had rolled in that week, and about the next time the twins would be giving them an internet call. Every now and then, they ate in silence, just enjoying each other’s company. And Ford found he liked it. Even if he was totally caught by surprise by the gesture, Ford couldn’t stop the constant blush that crept up his cheeks and down to the hem of his turtleneck. The food, the candles, the decorations… they were all more than he even knew his brother was capable of. He had never known Stan to be such a romantic.

Or, had Stan always been a romantic, and Ford just never really noticed? He had always gone the extra mile for him in high school, always paid close attention to all the little things Ford loved most, always tried to take him out, do nice things, even when they were just foolish kids, doing foolish things, like building a boat, shaping dreams together, holding hands, stealing kisses under the stars…

“Hey, Earth to Poindexter, come in, Poindexter.”

Ford jumped and snapped his eyes back up to Stan, seeing his brother standing next to him at the table, hand out and ready for the taking. From somewhere on the other side of the room, a soft record played; he didn’t recall Stan getting up and turning it on. He swallowed, amazed at how much his senses were fleeing from him tonight. When Ford met his eye, Stan just grinned, beckoning with his hand.

“Come on, the night’s still pretty young.”

“Are you asking me for a dance?” Ford asked, a smile pulling at his lips. Before Stan could properly respond with more than just an eyeroll, Ford took his hand, allowing himself to be pulled from the chair.

“Yeesh, I thought you were a genius. Did no alien babes teach you anything on the other side of that portal?” Behind them and on the other side of the room, Ford heard Sinatra’s voice start up. A grin spread further along his face and he pulled Stan closer to his chest.

“Well, not really, but I did get a few lessons here and there,” Ford purred out, and this time, it was Stan’s turn to blush. As kids, Stan was more of a dancer; he learned his moves trying to impress the girls at the diner or at prom, but that was ragtime. Now though, it had been some time since Stan had had a dance partner, and Ford could tell. So, he took the lead, a hand on Stan’s hip and the other in Stan’s hand, helping to pull him into a more elegant slow dance. Stan, for all his swagger, couldn’t help but falter under his brother’s soft grip and surprising grace. Still, he always had room for a quip or two.

“Heh, who knew, you don’t have two left feet after all.”

“Yes, well, just consider this a returning favor for this nice dinner that you went out of your way for.” Ford fell into the steady smoothness of _Summer Wind,_ waltzing around the table with Stan in his hands. His uneasiness had fled him completely, and he couldn’t help but love seeing his twin getting flustered in turn. “Where did you get all this stuff, by the way?”

Stan scoffed and shrugged, as if it was nothing. “Shack throws dances and parties all the time, this was all old junk from storage.”

“Storage huh,” Ford said, watching Stan as they both moved through the steps together. “Even so, this is more than I could have asked for. And nothing that I expected, especially from you.”

“What, didn’t think your little brother had it in him to be romantic?”  
  
“Maybe I was just too blind to ever notice until now,” Ford said softly, under his breath. _Summer Wind_ ended as _Strangers in the Night_ started up, and Ford found it hard to meet his brother’s eye. Instead, Stan just nudged him into position, the tempo of the song changing their placement. He took the lead instead.

“Hey, you were a busy guy, and pretty oblivious when we were younger. No big deal.”

“But it is. I never gave you enough time, Stanley.” He looked around the room, at the decorations. “If anything, I should be doing something this extravagant for you. To make up for…”

“For, what, the last 30 years?”

“For _everything_ ,” he breathed out. He put his head on Stan’s shoulder, closing his eyes. He swallowed down his scent, gulping the flavor of it into his lungs. A broad hand ran down his back, soothing.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Ford. Besides, what we’ve been keeping up these last few months? It’s… it’s honestly more than I could have ever asked for. And this is comin’ from the guy who never thought he’d actually see you alive again.”

Ford pushed his face into Stan’s neck, eyes shutting tight. He didn’t like to think on how he almost didn’t make it out of the portal, almost didn’t make it out of the apocalypse, almost didn’t make it up to Stan, or almost didn’t allow them to get to this point...and yet he thought about it. But he just needed to breathe. Needed to remind himself that he was here now, in the present, it wasn’t just some crazy fever dream, he was here and it was Stan holding him close in his big, protective, warm embrace.

“I love you, Stanley,” He breathed out against his skin, and felt the air catch in his brother’s chest, felt the step falter before Stan caught it again. A hand tightened on his back, pulling him close.

“Heh, don’t be such a sap, Sixer,” he said, voice wavering in his ear. Stan’s throat rumbled pleasantly against his face. Ford smiled against it, breathed out a small laugh.

“Hard to not be sap when my brother is so sweet.”

An audible groan above him brought him out of his head and fully out of his miseries with a laugh. Instead, Ford couldn’t help but grasp Stan’s hand tight in his once again, the pace changing as _You Make Me Feel So Young_ switched over on the record player. Ford took the opportunity to spin Stan around quickly, pulling him in close. Before Stan could protest, he captured his lips, dipping Stan in the process, holding him as far down as his body would allow. He didn’t break the contact until they were back upright, both of them breathless from the slight exertion, but a confident small grin marking Ford’s face as he brought his forehead to Stan's.

“I love, you, Stanley Pines,” he repeated, this time following the statement up with a much more heartfelt kiss. When they broke away this time, Stan’s own grin was much larger, his eyes that much darker.

“Now you’re just saying it,” Stan growled out lowly, prompting another small laugh from Ford. Another kiss between them. Another breath.

“Maybe I am,” Ford said quietly when they next parted, prompting a small hum of disapproval from Stan. “But can you really fault me for it?” Their hands, first intertwined, found a way to work themselves back into each other. Ford pulled Stan closer, loving the lack of resistance to the touch.

“Sure can, loving me is probably your biggest mistake to date,” Stan said huskily, to which Ford just hummed.

“Maybe, if I didn’t know you go through things like this that remind me just how much you love me too-”

“Oh, _god_ , Stanford -” Stan groaned out, rolling his eyes, but Ford just caught Stan’s lips with his own again, warm and insistent. His argument was cut off with a groan, but Ford pulled away once more, prompting a hefty, annoyed breath.

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you.” Stan complained. To which Ford simply responded by locking his mouth to Stan’s neck, causing his voice to hitch.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Ford said huskily, kissing his way up to his twin’s ear. “Even so, I love _you_ Stanley, and I want you to hear it so many countless times and in a million different languages.” He felt Stan tighten his hold on him, arms wrapped around in a grip that said he didn’t want to let go. His words coughed out of him, fighting for purchase.

“I love you too, Stanford. God, I love you so much.”

And once again, for what felt like the hundredth time that night, Ford was caught off-guard by his brother. This time, instead of chilling his blood though, the sincerity lit him on fire, and he brought his lips back up to his brother’s, - his lover’s, his _twin’s,_ \- hungrily lavishing the mouth that had said such pure, unadulterated things. His hands clung to Stan’s face, grabbing his hair, and Stan, while thrown off at first by Ford’s fervency, groaned his delight right back, meeting Ford’s hunger with his own. They stayed entwined like this for a while, dance forgotten, only aware of their breath and each other. It wasn’t until the record was halfway through _It Had to be You_ that they both parted once again, chests heaving slightly. Ford rested his forehead on Stan’s, causing the other to hum out in appreciation.

“Thank you for the nice Valentine’s Day gift, Stanley.” Ford could feel Stan rolling his eyes and grinning.

“You know, Sixer, there’s more than one way to say ‘thank you,’ if you know what I mean.” Ford raised an eyebrow at that, a playful smirk pulling on his features.

“I would certainly hope there is,” he said huskily, and this time, when he captured his brother’s breath, he made sure to never let go of it again.


End file.
